


A Child's Potential

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood AU, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Gen, Kid Winchesters (Supernatural), Medical, Pre-Series, Protective John Winchester, Sick Mackland Ames, Sick Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Dr. Mackland Ames discovers Dean's hidden potential.  "Dr. Winchester…it had a nice ring to it."
Series: Suitcase of Memories [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Kudos: 18





	A Child's Potential

**1988  
** _**New York City** _

Dr. Mackland Ames eased the guest bedroom door open, trying to be as quiet as possible—as to not disturb the two sleeping children.

The doctor inched his way towards the younger of the two and picked up the blanket the little boy had without a doubt kicked off in the middle of the night. Gently, he draped the blanket across his body, covering him to his shoulder. Before he pulled away completely, Mac let his hand rest on the still flushed face of the sick five-year-old. The doctor happily noted that the fever that had raged over the last few days was nearly gone. With the exception of a lingering cough and runny nose, Sammy was nearly back to his energetic norm.

Suddenly, he felt a gaze pierce his back. He turned his head to see Dean staring at him. Mac glanced at his watch, it was almost 2 a.m. "Dean, it's late, son. What're you doing up?" He'd hoped that the boy wasn't catching the flu. Slowly, he walked over to the older boy's side of the king-sized bed. He'd wanted to separate the two brothers but found himself in a battle he knew he'd lose.

Sammy screamed, cried, and threw the mother of all temper tantrums when he suggested that Dean should sleep in Caleb's room. Dean was no better, except where Sam was vocal, Dean was silent. The nine-year-old just stared at him as if he'd been betrayed. He spent the rest of the day answering him with only a 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir'. It was something that pulled at his heart. He never wanted to be seen as a drill sergeant—they were children, not John's trained soldiers. So, he backed down and allowed the boys to stay together. He gave them separate sheets, pillows, and blankets in hopes of reducing the risk that Dean would contract the virus from his clinging little brother.

Mac was just thankful that their father had brought them to his condo, instead of leaving them on their own in a dirty motel room. It was something that he truly didn't understand; how could the man think that it was good parenting to force a nine-year-old to run a household on his own, to leave two grammar school-aged children on their own for days at a time. Although his reasons were different, if he was gone for more than a day or two, Caleb would be sent to stay at his grandfather's place. No matter how much the teen complained and whined about it, Mackland couldn't risk coming home to find a pregnant teenaged girl and her father showing up at his door.

The older man walked over to Dean's side of the bed and sat down at the edge, waiting the boy out. He'd learned early on that Dean would speak on his own terms and at his own time; you couldn't rush him.

Dean shrugged, "Couldn't sleep…Sammy's breathing sounds funny. Is he okay?"

Mac smiled at him reassuringly, "He's getting better, just a little bit stuffed up. It'll clear up in another couple of days, don't worry." The child slept soundly, safe, and secure in the arms of the person who loved him most in the world. Unlike Dean, who woke up at the slightest sound, Sammy could sleep through almost anything.

Dean glanced up at the doctor for a moment, nodded, and then forced his gaze towards his hands before picking at the sheets covering his legs.

"Are you alright, Dean? Mac asked him quietly.

"Yeah," He pulled at a string that'd been plucked from the edge of the sheet. He played with it for a while, before asking, "Can I ask you a question?"

Mac put his hand on top of the boy's blanket-covered knee, "Of course."

Several emotions flickered in Dean's eyes. While he was adept at hiding his emotions, his eyes gave him away every time. Those who knew how to read Dean's eyes could see into his very soul. So, he patiently waited for him.

"Are you mad at Caleb?" The small voice whispered in the darkness.

A puzzled frown appeared on Mac's face. ' _Are you mad at Caleb?_ ' Mac wasn't sure where the question originated from. "No, I'm not mad at Caleb. Is there something that would lead you to believe that I am?"

Dean turned a little on his side to face the older man. "You told him that he had to go away…even if he didn't want to."

"Go away?" Mac asked him, "When did you hear me tell Caleb that he had to go away?"

Dean stared at his fingers, then lifted his face in an accusation, "When he was filling out those papers. He said that he didn't want to go and you told him that he had to."

Understanding suddenly filled his mind, "You mean when we were filling out college applications?"

Dean bit his lip and then nodded worriedly.

"Dean," Mac started softly, "Do you know what college is?" He saw Dean shrug… wordlessly answering his question. "They are special schools that adults go to educate themselves in skills to use in a future career."

"Like hunting?"

He stared at the child sadly. After his mother's death, all traces of anything 'normal' were buried along with her. All he knew now was the hunt—it was the hunt that drove his father, the threat of danger that ran their lives, the constant upheaval from practically living out of their car state to state. "No, Dean. You don't have to go to college in order to hunt. Hunters learn from other hunters."

"So, Caleb doesn't have to go. He wants to be a hunter." Dean didn't see any other reason for his best friend to go away.

"Yes, you're right. He does want to be a hunter, but," Mac stopped and rubbed at his mustache, trying to find the right words—not wanting to paint his father in a bad light, "I think that it's best for Caleb to explore other interests as well. He's a creative person, one who loves to build things…I just want him to have other opportunities, to see other places, and to have fun." He quietly chuckled, "Dean, some of the best times in my life were in college and medical school."

Dean looked up curiously, "You went to college?"

"Yes." He smiled, "I went to college, then medical school. That's where I learned how to be a doctor."

The fact that Mackland was a doctor hadn't escaped Dean. Mac was the one who gave them medicine and helped them feel better if they were hurt or sick. After dad came from the hospital, Mac changed John's bandages, gave him medicine so that he wouldn't be in pain, and helped him gain his strength back after his surgery. "Oh…Did dad go?"

"Well, your dad joined the Marine Corp. It's not college—it's military, but he had the opportunity to learn things—auto repair, weapons training, leadership, discipline—things that have helped him become a great hunter."

"Do I have to go?" The boy looked worried, staring down at his sleeping little brother as if someone were going to snatch him from right under his nose.

Mackland gently pulled open his clenched fists. "No, you don't have to go if you don't want to. Dean, this isn't something you need to think about now. You have to graduate high school first…you're still in elementary school."

Dean still looked scared, "When's Caleb leaving?" His voice broke at the last word.

Mac drew him into his arms and rubbed his back, "He's not leaving yet, son. He still has a year and a half to finish high school. Caleb and I are just starting the process, filling out applications. Nothing has been decided yet. He may decide to go to a college or university near home. But, I promise you Dean; he won't just leave without telling you. And, you can always visit. We could visit him together if you like."

"Okay." The boy whispered against his neck.

The older man patted him for a few more moments before pulling away and getting him settled back into the bed. Mac pulled the covers up over his shoulders. "Get some sleep, Dean. It's late."

The boy suddenly looked younger as his eyes began to droop. "Goodnight, Mac."

As the doctor gently closed the bedroom door, he could only pray that Dean would have sweet dreams tonight—a child's dreams of lollipops and candy canes.

_Next morning_

Lights dimmed on and off as the room spun on its axis. There was a distinctive haze; the edges of sight were blurry. The air itself was running out, making even simple breathing feel as if it were done through a pin-holed straw.

He heard a noise, voices speaking to him. Cool hands, cool cloths, wetness, warmth, wetness again…repeating until the haze grew and darkness found him once again.

* * *

The next time he woke, he felt a small hand on his forehead. A straw was pressed to his lips and he was encouraged to drink. The sweet tangy flavor of orange juice flooded through his taste buds. He moaned softly as a stinging burned his throat. The cup was taken away and a damp washcloth was placed on his forehead.

"Thanks, Caleb." Mac groaned; he was tired and didn't even have the energy to crack open his eyes.

The small hand patted his head; he heard the voice whisper to him. "It'll be okay, Mac. Don't worry. You'll feel better soon. I'll take care of you."

"Dean?" The doctor forced his eyes open, and the connection was made.

"Do you feel better, Mac?" Dean looked at him with wide eyes, a cup of orange juice still in his hands.

Mac pushed himself up slightly so that he was leaning against the extra pillows he found on his bed. "Where's Caleb, Dean?" His voice was scratchy, every sound whispered.

Dean handed him the cup of juice and watched him sip at it. "He and Sammy are shopping. We needed more food, and you needed some more medicine. He'll be back soon."

Mac leaned his head against the headboard, wincing as he underestimated the wood as it collided with his brain. The thud echoed around in his mind for a few seconds, leaving him slightly dizzy. When the dizziness faded, he found that Dean handing him a couple of white pills and a glass of water.

Fear suddenly woke up, making his heart race. "Dean, where did you get these?" He took the pills from him.

Dean pointed at the bathroom. "They were in your cabinet," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Do you even know what they are?" Mac was angry. The children were in his care, and they could've been hurt. He forgot that Dean had been taught how to pick locks—childproof caps wouldn't hold the boy back.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered, his gaze forced straight ahead. He stood at attention, like a small soldier. "It's Tylenol, for your fever."

Mac looked at the pills in his grasp and the tiny 'Tylenol' imprints were apparent on each capsule. The flu symptoms were making it hard for him to think straight.

"How did you know that?" Mac stared at him, confused.

Dean bit his lip, "You told me." The boy swallowed reflexively, "When Sammy was sick…you told me that the Tylenol would help his fever." Dean looked at the floor, then raised his face towards the older man, "I read the bottle. The red bottle said it was for babies and small children. The other bottle said 'for adults'. Did I make a mistake?"

"No." Mac shook his head slowly. "You're right. I—just didn't want you to play with medicine if you didn't know what it was. It's dangerous. It could make you sick."

"I just wanted to help you feel better. I'm sorry." He slowly handed the doctor a glass of water. After he handed him the glass, Dean inched his way towards the door.

"Dean, wait. I'm sorry." Mac called out to him hoarsely. "You did a great job. Come back, _please_. I'm sorry. I'm not mad."

Dean turned back, eyebrows arched in suspicion. "You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not, Dean. Actually, I'm really proud of you. Thank you for taking care of me." Mac pulled at the wet washcloths that had been placed lovingly on his fevered skin. "Did you do all of this?" He held up the cloth, smiling at the boy.

Dean climbed up on the bed and sat beside him. "Yes, sir."

Mac laughed lightly, happy. "And you learned just by watching and listening to me?"

Dean nodded, smiling too. "Uh-huh."

Mac rubbed the boy's hair fondly. "So, what else did you learn?"

"Well, dad taught me a couple of things. Like if you're bleeding, you hold pressure on the wound until it stops. If Sammy chokes, then you put him on his belly and hit his back hard until the food pops out. Don't buy anything that has a 'toxic' sticker on it, because Sammy might drink it on accident and it'll make him really sick. Stuff like that."

"Those are very good things to know, Dean. If you want, I could teach you a couple more things…" He watched the nine-year-old's face light up, excited.

"Really?" Dean smiled.

Mac smiled back, "Yes, really." He started coughing and felt a small hand patting his back. "Thank you."

He heard the front door crash open and knew it was his teenager returning. His guess was proven right as Caleb walked into his bedroom, Sammy in tow. "Hey, Dad. You still look like crap."

"Caleb!" Mackland coughed. "Language!"

Caleb rolled his eyes at his father. "Sorry."

Sam quickly ran over to his brother and climbed up to sit beside him. Mac hid a smile behind his hand, quickly wiping at his face. Sam always followed his brother around…it was precious.

"Hi-ya, Mac!" The little boy excitedly yelled. The older boys winced at his volume; although everyone tried to teach Sam about the 'in-door' voice, it was a concept that the five-year-old always forgot in his excitement.

"Hi, Sammy."

"Caleb said that you're really sick. You didn't even wake up when I jumped on you! Dean yelled at me, though. And daddy called; he's coming home in a little bit. Pastor Jim's coming too. Pastor Jim said that he's going to make us some really good chicken soup. Then Caleb asked him to make pudding—and he said that he would. Caleb wants chocolate, but I like vanilla. Pastor Jim said that he'll make both and make it swirled!" The boy ran on without taking a single breath until his brother put a hand over his mouth.

"That's enough, Sammy. We've got to let Mac get some sleep." Dean pulled his little brother off the bed and towards the door. "Go into the kitchen and wait for me. I'll make us lunch in a minute." It was an order.

Dean turned towards Caleb, "Did you get the cough syrup?"

Caleb nodded, handing him the plastic bag. "Yeah, I got it, Dean." He shot his father a look that Mackland wasn't able to distinguish.

Mac watched under hooded eyes as Dean pulled out the red bottle, read the instructions, pulled off the small cap, and poured the appropriate amount completely concentrating on the task at hand before handing him the little medicine filled measuring cup.

He quickly downed the medicine as if he was taking a shot of alcohol, forcing himself not to make a face at the horrible taste. Dean gently took the cup from him, then handed him a glass of water, making sure to tell him to drink it all before taking the glass back and placing it on a tray that Mac only now saw was placed on the nightstand next to the bed. Dean then opened the drawer, then pulled out an herbal cough drop, unwrapped it, and then gave it to him. "It'll help your coughing," he explained. The boy waited for him to put the medicine in his mouth, then pulled up the covers, and pushed Caleb out the door. "Get some sleep, Mac. I'll make sure everyone leaves you alone."

Once the door closed, Mac sank down in the mattress and started laughing slash coughing. This was a side of Dean that he'd only seen when Sam was ill or hurt. John always joked that Dean was like a mother bear with her cubs. Dean always hovered around him when he was administering first aid to his father or little brother. He'd always assumed that Dean was just worried—now, he discovered that the boy was learning from him.

Watching him now made him hopeful.

Dean had in him the makings of a wonderful doctor.

John had trained his son, taken Caleb under his wings to teach him how to be a hunter—perhaps it was his turn to take Dean under his wings and teach him a few things.

He thought about it even as he slipped into a comfortable sleep. Dr. Winchester… _it had a nice ring to it_.

* * *

After a few hours of sleep, Mac felt well enough to head towards the bathroom to empty his filling bladder. After taking care of his urgent need, he washed his hands and grabbed his robe. He wrapped the robe around his waist, wincing at the arthritic feel of his hands. He was incredibly sore and felt twice his age as he hobbled towards the kitchen.

As he neared the common area, he heard the sounds of children laughing. It made him smile and walked in to see Sam and Dean having a 'tickle' war with Caleb. The two brothers were teaming up to sit on him and attacking his sensitive areas. Sammy had grabbed hold of his foot and was starting to pull off his sock. Caleb was on the ground almost crying from laughter.

John was there. He rolled his eyes at him. "If a couple of kids can take you down Reaves, then you don't stand a chance against the demons from hell."

Caleb stopped Sam by picking him up and attacking his neck. The little boy started squealing. Dean laughed at them both, then finally noticed the doctor watching them.

"Mac! You're awake. I'm sorry, were we too loud?" Dean asked him before jumping up to grab him by the hand. The boy pulled him over to the couch, then pulled a fleece blanket over his lap.

John smirked at him. "You look like crap, Mac."

"Language!" Mac barked at him, then started coughing.

A warm hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to see Jim watching him in concern. A cup of tea was pressed into his hands after the coughing jag ended. "We've been worried about you, Mackland. John and I were worried about Samuel getting worse—we hadn't considered that you'd get sick as well."

The boy in question crawled over to him and pressed against his leg. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't wanna make you sick. But don't worry, Dean'll make it better." He said it with complete conviction; the boy was in awe of his big brother, thought the sun rose and set with him…and no one, not even Dean, could convince him otherwise.

Mac patted the boy on the head with affection and watched as he scampered away to play pretend with his woobee bear. Dean sat next to his father; John was relaxed, his arm wrapped around his older son's shoulder. "Dean said that you had a fever of 103 this morning." At his confused look, John explained, "He took your temperature with the thermometer in the first aid kit. Glad you're feeling better."

Jim sat down next to the teenager, placing a cup of coffee in front of John, and taking a cup of tea for himself. Caleb arched an eyebrow at the lack of coffee but resigned himself to getting a bottle of juice from the refrigerator.

"How'd the hunt go?" Mac asked softly, taking a sip of tea to help ease his sore throat.

John shrugged, "Routine salt and burn. Nothing to write home about."

Jim huffed, "Of course, you'd say that! You weren't the one covered in ectoplasm!"

Caleb's ears twitched, he jumped up eagerly wanting to hear the story. "Who got covered in ectoplasm?"

The Knight sipped at his coffee with a smile on his face. "Oh, it's not important," he said teasingly. The man was definitely in a good mood; it didn't happen often, but it put everyone at ease when he was. If John Winchester relaxed, everyone else could too.

Mac arched his eyebrow before pulling up the covers higher. He was still feeling cold—which was most likely a result of a low-grade fever. "This must be good." He turned towards Jim with a questioning look.

Pastor Jim Murphy lounged against the couch. "John had decided that Harland Sawyer needed a little bit more field experience under his belt."

"Well," John rumbled, "He learned an important lesson, Jim."

Jim shook his head at the stubborn man, "What lesson was that?"

"Not to piss me off." John spelled it out. "Family ties to the Brotherhood means crap to me. I'm tired of hearing how he should've been the Knight. And I'm tired of him trying to push his son into my lap. I say he deserved to get his hands dirty."

Jim argued back, "I understand how you feel, but was it really necessary to lure him into a pool of ectoplasm?"

"Hey, it wasn't my fault he slipped into the pool. With those fancy thousand dollar shoes he wears, you'd think they'd have a non-slip sole." John smirked at the thought.

Mac blinked a few times, "He slipped into a pool of ectoplasm? How could ectoplasm accumulate to that extent?" Ectoplasm was usually found in small amounts in areas of ghostly activity.

John shrugged, still smirking, "Beats me."

Jim just shook his head at the man. "Honestly, neither of us wants to know."

"I do." Caleb butt in. "Can you teach me that?"

His mentor just shook his head, "In your dreams, kid."

Mac leaned back against the cushions, suddenly tired. He closed his eyes and nearly jumped when a callused hand touched his forehead. "You have a fever, Mac." John's voice was surprisingly soft. "You should go back to bed." He wanted to argue that he was fine when the choice was taken from him. John gripped his arm and pulled him to his feet. His presence was solid behind him as he was assisted back into the bedroom. Mac sat at the edge of his bed, looking up at the man who'd somehow become family to him—had become a brother.

John handed him a couple more capsules of medicine, before indicating that he should lie down. The doctor ignored him for a moment.

Mac rubbed his face wearily, as he watched John pull up a chair and sit in front of him. "I'm sorry about all of this, Mac. We'll be out of your hair…"

The man waved away his words. "Don't worry about it, John. The flu is bad this time of year; I probably would've caught it at work…"

"Something wrong?" John was concerned, "You want to go to the hospital?" John moved towards the phone, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"No, I'll be _fine_ , John," Mac stressed. "I want to talk to you about Dean."

John sat back, startled at the turn of the conversation. "What did he do? I hope that he wasn't too much trouble…"

Mac stopped him, "No. John, that's not what I mean. He didn't do anything wrong…he—John—your son's extraordinary. He's incredibly intelligent."

"I know, Mac. His teachers all say the same; he just doesn't apply himself unless he's comfortable with the people around him."

"Do you know that he took care of me? Dean, not Caleb. He was able to piece together enough medical knowledge to know exactly what to do to help me. He knew what each medicine was used for and was able to measure the exact amount to give me—based on the information he'd gathered watching me treat Sam. That's amazing, John. He's only nine years old." Mac stopped when he became short of breath.

John patted his back awkwardly, "Jeez, Mac. Breathe already. You've really gotta cut your lectures short sometimes. Cut to the chase. What's your point?"

Mac blinked up at him, "You really don't see it?"

"See what?" John spread his arms out in exasperation.

"Dean's potential." Mac looked incredulously at him.

John only smiled at him. "I think that I know my son."

"Do you, John?" Mac asked, "The boy has unlimited potential—with the proper education…if he felt comfortable in one place…"

"No." John was succinct, immediate. "We aren't going to argue about this, Mackland. They're my children and they're staying with me."

Mac put his hands up in surrender. "Alright," he coughed, "but, still… you have to think of their future."

John handed him a glass of water, "I have. But I'm not going to stop until I find the thing that killed Mary. Once it's defeated…that's when I'll settle down. That's when the boys'll have a home."

"What about Dean?" Mac asked.

John stared at his friend for a while. If Mac were any other person, he would've dragged his kids out of the house and never looked back. He didn't need anyone questioning his parenting. But Mackland had let him into his home, had helped him with his traumatized son, shared his son's life with him—allowed him to mentor him, train him to be a hunter—there was no way that he could cut the man out of the life of his boys. There was no way that Dean would allow it. The boy was incredibly protective of his family—and those he considered family. It was obvious that the doctor was now included—the way that he cared for Mac when he was sick spoke volumes to his father. He didn't want to hurt him by taking him away from someone he loved, and someone who loved him back enough to fight for his future.

"Listen, Mac. I know you want the best for Dean and Sammy. You just have to trust me—I know all about Dean's potential." He sat silent for a few minutes worrying at the gold wedding band, "Sometimes, I think Mary'd be so disappointed in me. She wouldn't want this for our boys, but I've got no other way to protect them. It's what I gotta do to survive. But you see, Dean…he's not like me. He wants to help people—he wants to protect them. You talk about his potential—about him going to school, filling up his brain with talk of college and medicine—but, you don't see everything. That boy," John pointed towards the living area, "He'll grow up better than all of us. Hell, he's already better than all of us."

Mac nodded, "He'll be a good man." With that said the doctor pulled up his legs on the bed and lay down on top of the covers.

John stood up and walked over to the door. He stood at the doorway, and looked back, nodding silently.

"Yeah, he will be."

**Author's Note:**

> Post "The Password" By Tidia.  
> Ties in with "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman" By Tidia.  
> Both posted on Fanfiction.net


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